


Safe & Sound

by sartiebodyshots



Category: Falling Skies
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-05
Updated: 2015-03-05
Packaged: 2018-03-16 10:21:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3484688
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sartiebodyshots/pseuds/sartiebodyshots
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Singing in the shower.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe & Sound

            Tom reaches sleepily over to Cochise’s side of the bed.  He’s surprised to find that Cochise isn’t there, but he’s too asleep to think about it too much.  Sometimes Cochise does have other things to do apart from cuddling his unconscious body after all. 

            But then he hears something beautiful.  Some kind of beautiful noise rolling into his ears.  It’s strange and foreign, but somehow it’s so comforting.  The sound seeps from his head to flood the rest of his body, making him feel light and airy.

            It’s pleasant and Tom buries himself a little tighter into his bed.  He wants to lay here forever, bathing in the sound. 

            The sun has other ideas, bursting through the shades and jolting him awake. 

            Now that he’s awake, he realizes that the noise is coming from the bathroom and that the shower is running, too.  Curious, he gets up, wrapping the sheets around himself to fend off the cold.  Tom’s still not totally committed staying awake. 

            When he eases open the door to the bathroom (because, hey, it’s either Cochise or someone who shouldn’t be in his bathroom and he doesn’t want the sound to stop), the sound gets louder, bouncing off the cracked linoleum. 

            Cochise is standing in what passes as their shower- a showerhead with a drain without an actual curtain or tub- back to Tom as he lets the water run over him and he sings.  He’s got to stoop, just the barest bit, so that the water can run over the top of his head. 

            There are twenty five ridges that run down Cochise’s back, and Tom watches, mesmerized as the water flows over them.  Cochise’s back is flushed a slightly darker grey than usual, maybe because of the heat from the shower.  Tom wants to run his fingers down his back and count each ridge again and again.

            More than that, he wants to listen to his singing.  Tom snuggles up in his blanket, tilting his head against the doorway to watch and listen.  He’s still sleepy, and he can’t believe that he hasn’t heard this before.

            Cochise turns to wash his back and spots him, eyes widening as his mouth slams shut.

            “I am sorry if I woke you up, Tom Mason,” Cochise says.

            “That was beautiful,” Tom says, blinking slowly to try to clear his head.  “I didn’t know you sing.”

            “I am not very good,” Cochise says sheepishly.

            “I’d beg to differ,” Tom says.  “Was that your native language?”  It hadn’t sounded like anything he’s heard Cochise or the other Volm mutter before, but Tom also knows he’s terrible with his language. 

Once the war is over, he’ll get better with it, he promises himself daily.

            “Our language is not as well suited to lyricism as yours is, so we do not sing with words.  We put our emotions into sounds and the notes instead,” Cochise explains. 

            “Was that good emotion?” Tom asks.  “It sounded good.”

            “It was indeed,” Cochise says and the way that he’s looking at Tom gives him a pretty good idea what it was about. 

            Tom lets the blanket fall to the floor and lazily slides out of his pajamas.  Naked now, he saunters over to Cochise and wraps his arms around his torso. 

            The water is warmish and it feels so good running over his body.  Not nearly as good as Cochise’s hands massaging shampoo through his hair, though.  It’s relaxing, especially considering Tom hadn’t fully committed to waking up.

            “Do you sing, Tom Mason?” Cochise asks, voice rumbling through his chest to Tom’s ears.

            “I’m a terrible singer,” Tom murmurs.  “Even in the shower.  It’d hurt your ears.”

            “My ears are resilient,” Cochise says.

            “I think you should sing instead,” Tom says, burying his face in Cochise’s chest as Cochise starts to rinse his hair out. 

            “If you are certain,” Cochise says.  

            Tom nods and Cochise fills the bathroom with his singing again.  It resonates against the broken tile and against something deep inside of him.  There’s peace in this music, somehow.  He doesn’t understand how Cochise can possibly make sounds like this- he’s pretty sure he has goosebumps.

            They sway back and forth under the spray until the hot water runs out and they end up running back to their bed together for warmth.


End file.
